After Biden’s Clemency, Trump Has Condemned Us to a Life Worse Than Death
The Fragility of Life on Federal Death Row After Clemency
Rejon Taylor has spent more than half his life behind bars. In 2008, he was sentenced to death for a homicide committed when he was 18 years old. For 16 years, he lived in solitary confinement on death row at the federal penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana. Despite struggling with temporal lobe epilepsy and PTSD, he is a dedicated artist, poet, and writer. Through many essays and over 300 pieces of art, Rejon Taylor utilizes his creativity to “create connective tissue between a solitary cell and the outside world.”
On December 23, 2024, alongside 36 other men, Taylor had his death sentence commuted by former President Joe Biden. Less than a month later, Taylor’s joy at receiving clemency was destroyed. On January 20, 2025, President Trump issued an executive order to expand the use of the death penalty at the federal and state level, undermining Biden’s clemency order. The 37 men whose death sentences were commuted are now set to be transferred to the U.S. Penitentiary Administrative Maximum, or ADX, the federal government’s only supermax prison, in Florence, Colorado. In a book review of No Human Contact: Solitary Confinement, Maximum Security, and Two Inmates Who Changed the System by Pete Earley, Solitary Watch editor-in-chief Juan Moreno Haines situated the heinous conditions at ADX within the context of the Trump administration’s devastating order.
In the following piece, Taylor unflinchingly describes the feeling of having escaped the looming scythe of death row, only to be caught at another deadly crossroads. More information about Taylor and his work can be found at https://juniperartgallery.com/collections/rejon-taylor —Kilhah St. Fort
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“This is a brutal place. We’re prisoners. If we run, they’ll try to kill us. Or worse.” —June in “The Handmaid’s Tale” (Season 1: A Woman’s Place)
While on my way to a visit, I happened upon a man of my status, a man once condemned, locked inside a holding cell on federal death row. In his neck was a wound, raw and red. The wound was stitched shut into a tight smile. It reminded me of the stitched lips of Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. Death feels closer after clemency.
I hadn’t seen him in a couple of days, since the day he’d razor-sliced his neck from ear to ear. He’d just come back from suicide watch, he said, and before that, the outside hospital.
He gingerly lifted his chin, exhibiting his stitched smile. “Thirty-one stitches,” he said through the bars. The stitches were an unstable blue. The blue cooled the redness of his wound. It was brutal, too. Brutal like this place. Brutal like the state in which we find ourselves.
Stitched Smile wore bright orange prison garb, though orange isn’t the color my lot wears. Orange is the color of special status, the color of problematic prisoners who were once in general population but are now in segregation, in a unit we’re not allowed to go. But he was in orange—shirt, pants, shoes—bright like a sign of danger. Bright like a venomous snake.
He extended an arm between the bars, showing me the underside of his left wrist. “Seven stitches,” he said of another stitched wound. I noticed how the stitches were tied, their ends sticking out like cut cat whiskers. If I rubbed them, I thought, they’d scratch me, rendering me death-contagious.
And with that, my mind blinked back to his solitary cell, the scene of his attempted suicide: the concrete floor stained with blood droplets; the metal shower and toilet smeared with rust-colored blood; a rope, thin and bloody, tied into a noose, hanging from a hook. Hanging without a body, bereft of a corpse.
A twisted sheet, I thought, would’ve gotten the job done with less mess. Would’ve been more efficient, too. No doubt, he hadn’t thought it through. Maybe it had been a desperate cry for help. Maybe a serious but unsuccessful attempt.
But what I did know was this: If I’d found myself at the end of my rope, I knew how things would turn out.
I was transfixed by it all, including my own perceptions. Stitched Smile’s presence stirred in me feelings too dissonant for comfort, thoughts too heavy for casual conversation. Like a Rorschach inkblot test, his presence opened up my own unraveling, evoking unconscious ideations.
I, too, felt like Stitched Smile, as if I were hanging on—or, in his case, sewed back together—by a thread. But that thread won’t keep us intact for what’s coming, for what’s looming before him, before us.
•
Ever since Biden granted 37 of us clemency, we’ve been in the crosshairs of petty politics. We are men marked for retribution, targeted for extra-judicial punishment. Unlike any other time, the power of the presidency is impacting the conditions of our confinement.
On his first day in office, President Trump signed an executive order that directs the Attorney General to imprison the 37 in conditions of monstrosity. And now we are designated for placement at the most restrictive and isolating federal prison in this country: United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility (ADX) in Florence, Colorado—the Alcatraz of the Rockies.
This supermax facility has been described by former ADX warden, Robert Hood, as “a clean version of hell,” “not designed for humanity,” and “far much worse than death.”
There, I fear, they will do to us what they do to political prisoners: Bury us alive inside concrete cells. Isolate us from each other. Restrict our contact with the outside world. All while mind-torturing us to death. It’s always that, the mind-fuck, and the anticipation is already harassing our mind.
My mind reels and unravels. A sense of doom hovers ahead as I anticipate being buried alive at ADX, cut off from the social world, existing in conditions of monstrosity. I refuse to become subhuman, a mere shell of my social self. To cut me off from the world is to undermine my humanity. To undermine my humanity is by far much worse than death. I’d rather orchestrate my own demise than exist in conditions not designed for humanity.
This triggers thoughts of another member of the 37, an artist friend of mine who’s been making elaborate plans to string himself up. Daily, he tells me he’s on a “literal deadline” to enact what may be his final work of art. If his conception is concretized, his final work will be, quite literally, a body of work—that is, the artist’s own body as artwork, hanging from a noose.
His motive: the same as Stitched Smile’s, which may be the same as mine.
•
Stiched Smile took off his shirt to show me what should’ve been his posthumous statement. Across his chest, in razor-sliced letters, were the same four letters his brother had cut into his skin, in an Indiana county jail in 2009, before slicing his neck to death: T S F L.
True Soldier For Life.
•
Life is fragile on the row after clemency. While we know life’s fragility in our bones, we feel its stubborn resistance in our hearts. And because life kicks against outside exterminations, it takes a little more effort, or a better method, maybe even a twisted sheet, to end it. If it ever comes to that, I will find a way to end it.
You cut me open, Stitched Smile. I’ll write a piece on your art exhibition, Artist Friend.
And I know of no better way for Stitched Smile to die than at the end of a blade—a gesture of solidarity with his brother’s ghost. It surely beats being a ghost confined to conditions of monstrosity inside a concrete prison tomb at the Alcatraz of the Rockies.
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Thank you, Rejon for sharing this powerful piece. Your writing lays bare the brutal emotional and physical realities of life on death row and in solitary confinement, where every moment feels like a battle for survival—not only against the conditions but against the erosion of one’s humanity. The rawness and vulnerability in his words strike deep, reminding us of the cost of political decisions on human lives.
Your articulation of the fragility of life, especially post-clemency, powerfully challenges us to confront what it means to subject someone to a fate worse than death. Comparison of ADX to “a clean version of hell” and his exploration of self-destruction as both an act of escape and a form of protest hit with immense force. It makes clear how these policies, rooted in retribution, continue to perpetuate suffering without aiming for any kind of rehabilitation or restoration.
What stands out in your writing is not just the description of the physical violence and trauma but the mental and emotional toll of such isolation—what you so poignantly describe as “mind-torturing.” In a world that continues to wrestle with ideas of justice and punishment, your words are a necessary intervention that asks us to consider the real human cost behind policies that distance us from compassion.
I agree with you when you speak about the importance of solidarity, and I wonder how we, as individuals and communities, can better support those in these conditions, amplifying their voices and advocating for humane reform. It’s evident that clemency alone is not a solution, especially when the same system that granted it also further entrenches suffering. The need for systemic change, empathy, and recognition of dignity in every individual, no matter their past, becomes all the more urgent through your writing.
Thank you again for bringing this story to light for those of us who have no idea. I hope it encourages more of us to consider the humanity behind the policies we often take for granted. You are amazing to share this with us.
I read your story and I appreciate your taking the time to share your thoughts and fears. I don’t know you but I do care abaout you and the others. Please continue to share and know that you are not forgotten.
Thank you for writing this and speaking your mind and heart. I was at the event at Juniper Gallery a couple of years ago at the panel of clergy. There are some very good people standing with you.
Thank you to Laura Lasuertmer for bringing Rejon’s plight and many gifts to my awareness. I routinely have the recognition that we are all one, we all the same, and we come into this world at a unique time and place and that has such a profound impact on how our life unfolds. Why don’t we recognize this and have grace, compassion and understanding for our fellow brother and sister? Thank you Rejon for blessing us with your creative self expression. Keep speaking your truth!
Thank you for sharing this truthful and courageous piece, Rejon. I will hold you in the light and not forget the many people being subjected to the horrors of our system. Your writing is a gift and a call to action for which I am very grateful.
Thank you so much for sharing this. It’s heartening to see this country amping up the use of cruel and unusual punishment.
Holding you in the light Rejon. Thank you for your writing and your insights. You deserve peace.
Rejon is a beautiful man who at a young age made a mistake that changed his life, a mistake that obviously haunts him every day, hes such a talent to be locked up with no key, his voice is truly inspirational and deeply hurtful at the same time, Im lucky enough to know Rejon through the bars of a corrlinks account, he is a wonderful caring man who deserves his freedom and is in my opinion unjustifiably punished for far too long and is worthy of forgiveness not just for his talent but because he is a beautiful man inside and out. #timetoreleaserejon
Rejon, in a different set of circumstances I feel certain you’d make a career on your writing. You have a way of communicating truth in sometimes brutal sometimes beautiful ways, depending on the piece. These words are brutal, reflecting the brutality of Trump’s inhumane order for those on death row who were granted clemency. Thank you, Rejon, for always being such a sharp and needed voice. People need to know what their government is doing and what the consequences are. You have the most courageous soul and it always shines through your work.
Bless you, you are a man of enormous courage. Please keep sharing your creativity, your writing and art, for creativity is life energy expressing itself. Send your light out into this Universe, and feel the returning ever present light nourishing you.
You are loved by everyone reading your exquisite, if painful, words.
Thank you, Rejon. For accepting the burden of bearing witness, and accepting the call to write and share your writing with all of us, that we might all carry the knowledge of this horror together. That we might all work towards, fight for, the undeniable right to dignity, to companionship, to life.
This is so beautifully written and so completely terrifying. I was so happy to hear about your clemency and I am heartbroken by your new reality. Thank you for continuing to share your humanity. Sending love and care.
Rejon, your writing resonates with me. I, too, experienced a measure of the indignities of our unmerciful carceral system. I encourage you to hope against hopelessness. See the Light that abides even in dense darkness.
Blessed to have been given the opportunity to meet you both. A honest and Sad story brought to life in a beautiful way, you definitely are an artist Rejon thank you for sharing the honest truths of the minds on the inside. I can truly tell “smile” means just as much to you, if not more than he does me. I know it’s extremely difficult right now but keep y’all’s heads up high. There’s people that care for you out here, With love
Frankie.
Rejon, thank you for living your life and sharing your life with us. Your words meet my need for honesty, compassion, courage, integrity and a shared reality. Thank you.
This is an incredibly moving, horrifying, heartbreaking, and important piece of writing. Thank you, Rejon, for pulling back the veil. It takes enormous strength to withstand the pressures of your situation. You also somehow have the strength to serve as witness to your friends’ agony. Because of this gift of writing, we readers can now bear witness to yours. It’s clear that what’s happening to you and others isn’t about justice or healing or rehabilitation or anything remotely connected to addressing harm. In the midst of this, your compassion and courage shine through. May that inner courage and wisdom continue to guide you. During these hard days, I wish you the kind of peace of mind and heart that comes from beyond your circumstances. And may your creativity and imagination never stop moving you beyond the bars. Please know that we are working hard alongside you to advocate for you and for a more humane system.
Thank you for the beauty, openness, and strength of this piece in our dark times. There is no limit, it seems, to the inhumanity, casual brutality, and deep hypocrisy of our current leadership.
You are a good person Rejon. And a talented person. I pray for goodness to come your way. 💕
Thank you for sharing your humanity with us so beautifully, Rejon. It is a powerful form of resistance.
This is horrifying to me Rejon. I was so happy you received clemency from Biden but now your life sounds worse than when on deaths row. My heart aches for you🙏🏽
I find the writing absolutely beautiful and the content absolutely horrifying. Thank you, Rejon, for sharing your gifts, your courage, your honesty, for letting us bear witness. May we do all that we can to shift this.
Rejon, thank you for this piece. Your ability to transform such brutal circumstances into art that connects with the outside world amazes me and everyone who has gotten to know you through it. Thank you for continuing to share the truth and for refusing to be silenced. Your humanity shines through every word, and you are an example for me.
This was a devastating and brutal piece to read. And an important one. Justice demands that we listen carefully to those who are suffering under policies that are put in place by OUR leaders. Mr. Taylor writes with such honesty and integrity. How can we understand the nature of our system of brutalization except from the testimonies of those living and dying under that system.
It breaks my heart to read these eloquent, devastating words from one of the most creative and thoughtful humans I have ever known. I have represented Rejon’s artwork through my gallery (Juniper Art Gallery) in Bloomington, Indiana for the past two years. We held an event in October of 2023 on World Day Against the Death Penalty. A panel of Death Row clergy spoke to “The Spiritual Cost of Capital Punishment” (a video from this event is on the Juniper Art Gallery YouTube channel). That evening is when I was first introduced to the writing of Rejon Taylor. I knew at that moment I HAD to know this person, this writer, artist, and to begin to understand the consequences of our barbaric penal system……and now, reflecting back to 2023, those treacherous conditions look like the “good ol’ days” compared to what these men may face in their future. The current administration wants nothing more than to make the lives of black and brown-skinned people unbearable whenever and wherever they can. Prison is not a platform for justice or rehabilitation, even though some of these men have found ways to rehabilitate and attempt to redeem themselves under incredibly harsh conditions. Our Federal penitentiaries are places of death and destruction, revenge and cruelty. It will never cease to perplex me how we as a nation, have allowed a convicted criminal to sit in the Oval Office and oversee our “justice system.” Rejon’s writing and bravery should serve as an alarm, as well as an inspiration to us all.
Brutal. Lawless. Discriminatory. Evil & Hate of human beings. This isthe president of the US making like more hard for individuals already facing harsh and inhuman conditions on a daily basis.
Rejon, thank you for this powerful, brave, and vulnerable piece. And thank you for showing us the humanity of another soldier, another friend. What the United States carceral systems and this administration have done (and are doing) is unconscionable. May we all work together to make another way.